


a kind word alone

by redhoodedwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I-Didn't-Know-My-Husband-Was-A-Mob-Boss AU, M/M, Mafia AU, Married Couple, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mob Boss Derek Hale, Mob Family Hale, The Hale Family, charity work, no violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: Derek swallowed thickly and tucked his chin over Stiles’ head. “I know. You’re a good man, Stiles Stilinski. Too good.”“Hale,” Stiles argued. “We’re married. I’m a Hale.”Derek squeezed Stiles tighter against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “And I love you and thank the stars every day that you did marry me.”*Stiles didn't know he'd married a mob boss.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 780





	a kind word alone

**Author's Note:**

> so I don't know if much of this is any good but i love the trope and think I did a decent job without hurting my heart too much!! for ladiekatie on tumblr who inspired this fic  
> title from an Al Capone quote: “You can get much further with a kind word and a gun then you can with a kind word alone.”  
> originally posted on tumblr

Stiles was confused.

He was no stranger to police stations. No stranger to interrogation rooms, even. When you grew up with a parent in law enforcement, you became accustomed to such places. Stiles had used Room 2 as his personal office for half of his high school years. 

The handcuffs weren’t even new. His later teen years had been full of mischief, and his Dad was never light-handed on the punishments. Though he’d been totally deserving of them, for sure. 

But a over decade after graduating high school, long since his last illegal stint (underage drinking in college), bar parking tickets, he somehow found himself back in an interrogation room, this one much more state-of-the-art and dark, heavy metal links chaining him to the table. 

“I know my rights!” Stiles shouted, gaze flitting over the mirror across from him, knowing there was a good chance that some kind of officer was watching him. “You need to tell me what I’m being held for! My dad is a retired sheriff, okay? I know what I’m talking about!”

The door to the room suddenly flew open, and two people dressed smartly in suits entered. One of them held a folder that was near bursting, and they smacked it on the edge of the table. Stiles barely held back from jumping, but was sure he flinched at the noise. 

“You’re not under arrest,” he was told.

Stiles shook the chains on his wrists. “Looks that way!” he hissed.

The second person raised an eyebrow and melted into one of the chairs across the table from him, like a cat. “Not really helping your cause by not showing respect.”

“What respect do I owe you? Why am I here? I’ve done nothing.” Stiles huffed. The cuffs on his wrists were starting to chafe his sensitive skin. 

“We just need to talk to you, and it’s important enough that we needed to bring you in, whatever means necessary,” says Folder.

Stiles flailed his hands as far up as the chains allowed. “That’s illegal! _Illegal_. You _cannot_ keep me here unless you are arresting me, and there’s nothing to arrest me for!”

Cat leaned forward and smirked. “If we wanted to arrest you, we could, we just thought you’d rather talk first before charges become necessary.”

“What could you possibly charge me with?” Stiles started ticking off with his fingers. “Okay, I have never missed paying my taxes, ever, even when I was eighteen! All of my parking and speeding tickets have been covered, I am a small business owner with all of my affairs in order, not a dot out of place on my licences. So what do you have on me?!” Stiles was doing his best to stave off a panic attack, his first in almost a year, and dammit he’d really been hoping to keep the streak going.

Folder slapped his namesake on the table again, sliding it closer to Stiles. “Accessory.”

“Great. Accessory to what?”

“Murder, for one.” Stiles felt his body go still, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “Extortion, conspiracy to commit x y and z, vandalism, blackmail; there’s a hundred charges we could bring you up on.” The folder did look thick.

Stiles was finding it hard to catch his breath. “What? I’ve _never_ \--”

“So, Mr. Hale, in case you want these charges upon you, you’ll answer our questions,” Cat cut in saying, though Stiles wasn’t sure he caught everything because his vision was starting to black out. 

Stiles tried to open his mouth, but he couldn’t find the strength, breathing was more important but even that wasn’t happening.

“Why don’t you start with what you know about your husband, hm?”

_Derek_? Stiles felt his mouth form the name before there was cool metal against his cheek, loud voices and rough hands on his arms, and he passed out.

* * *

Stiles met his husband four years ago, two months into Stiles’ ownership and opening of his bookstore and cafe. He’d been ringing up a family at the registers when one of his part-timers had sidled up to him, clearly needing to ask him something but not wanting to interrupt.

When the family had finished paying, Stiles asked what they needed. 

“There’s a guy here, from some charity, I think. Wants to ask about hanging up flyers. I wasn’t sure of our policy.”

Stiles grinned at them and shook his head. “It’s normally not a problem, but I’ll go talk to him. Is he--?”

Stiles hadn’t needed to finish asking where the man was because he turned and saw him staring at them, and his tongue stopped functioning.

“Hi there.” The man was maybe a hair shorter than Stiles, but he had muscles where Stiles had long limbs. Dark hair and scruff over his face and chin didn’t mask his pale, bright eyes and exceptionally shiny teeth. 

“Hi,” Stiles copied, and he pinched his thigh, hopefully out of sight of this man, to snap himself out of it. “Were you the one looking to put up flyers?”

The man smiled and nodded, and Stiles pinched himself again. “Do you own this place?”

Stiles nodded, dumbly.

“It’s great, I love the atmosphere in here,” the man complimented. “I’m Derek,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand.

Stiles took it, maybe a pinch too eagerly, and shook it. “Stiles. I go by Stiles. And thank you. For the compliment.”

Derek ducked his head, and Stiles could see a red flush on the tips of his ears. Oh, he was so screwed. 

“Of course. But yes, I was wondering about flyers.” He pulled a stack of papers out of his messenger bag and tilted them towards Stiles, so that he could look at them. “I saw your bulletin board by the door and was hoping I could add to it? I help run a charity, well, we do lots of different causes. But this year we’re focusing on animal shelters.”

Stiles could see that. Scattered across the flyer were cartoon animals with big smiles on their faces. At the top in dynamic font was HALE SUPPORTS and then in slightly smaller font PET RESCUE AND ADOPTION EFFORTS. The rest of the page detailed events in person and online that were happening, working for national change in the treatment of domestic animals.

“We’re hoping this year is a success, because next year we want to work on conservation, and it would really help to soften everyone up with animals close to home before branching out to wolves and lions and such.”

“Amazing,” Stiles breathed, fingers tugging on the corner of one of the flyers, it following when Derek let it escape from the stack as Stiles read it more thoroughly over. “You have a million dollar goal?” Stiles exclaimed, eyes wide.

Derek ducked his head again and shrugged. “It’s a big number, we know, but initial donations make this goal look promising.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, I mean I think you should shoot for way higher. This is LA, one of the richest cities in the country, you could make a million off this place alone.”

Derek made a humming noise, and Stiles looked back up at him, and he suddenly panicked. “I sound completely rude, don’t I? I’m sorry,” he stuttered.

“No, no, I think you’re right. My initial goal was to start at three and then increase form there, but my team thought it wise to go in low.”

“Nah, go in high man. Reach for the stars, and all that. Ha.” Stiles laughed, trying to hide how awkward he was being.

Derek’s smile was back. “I guess I better make some new flyers,” he commented softly.

Stiles felt even worse. “But these are so nice! It’s be such a waste to throw them out!”

“I won’t. Shelters could use them, shred them up and use the paper as litter for smaller animals like rabbits. We’re really good at recycling at Hale.”

The way he said that made Stiles think there was a joke somewhere in there, and he had a sharp longing to understand it. 

“Well, before you do, I’ll keep one for our wall. It still has lots of good information on it, even if the goal changes.” Stiles clutched the flyer to his chest, wrinkling it. 

Derek stared at the crumpling flyer in his hands and then slowly raised his gaze to meet Stiles’ eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

“Can I get you anything?” Stiles asked abruptly, seeing that their conversation was coming to a natural end and he was realizing that he really didn’t want it to. “The coffee is good, and our baked goods are fresh.” He bit his tongue to stop himself from adding, “on the house,” because he couldn’t let himself go that far for this near stranger, no matter how cute. 

Derek glanced down at his watch and winced, and Stiles felt his heart sink. “I can’t, though I wish I could,” Derek apologized. “I have a meeting, and I’ve already made my driver wait this long.”

Stiles nodded in understanding and took a step back. “Maybe next time?” he offered, trying to sound flirty.

“Most definitely. I really do like...this place.” Stiles felt his body go warm as Derek’s eyes traveled the room and then traveled up and down him. “Tomorrow, even.”

Stiles mentally prepared himself to wait all day the next day for Derek, no matter how long it made his daily shift. Owners had to make sacrifices, right?

“Can’t wait. Derek.”

Derek had been back first thing the next morning, and the rest was history.

* * *

When Stiles came back to himself, his name was being called repeatedly by a familiar voice. Vision swimming, he glanced up to see Boyd hovering over him.

“Stiles. Let’s go.”

Boyd was Derek’s assistant. _Derek_.

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles asked as best as his foggy brain would allow, He stood slowly from the chair and realized then that he was no longer cuffed, and there was no sign of any handcuffs having been there at all. Except for the marks on his wrists. 

“He’s in the car. We need to go, Stiles, he’s waiting.”

Stiles had no reason to stick around, so he quickly followed Boyd. The hall was empty. The entire precinct was empty. They didn’t run into a single soul, and right out front was Derek’s car. Boyd already had the backseat door open when he got to it, and the sight of Derek sitting inside made something in Stiles’ chest melt.

Derek pulled his husband into the car and hugged him tightly while working one-handedly to get a seatbelt around Stiles. Stiles tucked his head against Derek’s chest once the belt clicked into place, and Derek ran his fingers through his hair.

“Was it a bad one?” Derek asked in a soft murmur, and Stiles nodded. Derek sighed, and Stiles could feel the rumble of it underneath his cheek. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

“What was that, Derek?” Stiles asked, chin propped against his husband’s chest so he could look up at him. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Derek assured him. “They had no right to take you like that, take you away from your business, not give anyone any _warning_.”

Boyd cleared his throat loudly, but said nothing as he kept on driving.

“They accused me of murder, Derek! I never cook alone just in case I mishandle a knife, I would never, you _know_ I would _never_ \--”

Derek swallowed thickly and tucked his chin over Stiles’ head. “I know. You’re a good man, Stiles Stilinski. Too good.”

“ _Hale_ ,” Stiles argued. “We’re married. I’m a Hale.”

Derek squeezed Stiles tighter against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “And I love you and thank the stars every day that you did marry me.”

Stiles sat up, keeping their shoulders pressed together. “Derek, you’re worrying me. You’re never this sappy.”

Derek cupped his cheek. “You just had a negative experience that triggered a panic attack.”

“So take me for ice cream, don’t talk like you’re on the verge of dumping me,” Stiles snapped, taking Derek’s hand off of his face and twining their fingers together. 

“Derek.”

“Shut up, Boyd,”

“You need to tell him.” Suddenly, the car pulled off the road and Boyd cut the engine. He turned around in his seat and stared with narrowed eyes at Derek. “This has gone on too long. This is _your_ doing.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Derek hissed.

Stiles was confused. But somewhat less confused than he had been before. 

* * *

A year and a half into their relationship, Stiles took Derek on a picnic. It was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. They found a secluded patch of grass in the park near Derek’s apartment and set up blankets to sit on. Stiles pulled out of a legitimate picnic basket plates and silverware and napkins and fruits and sandwiches. He laid them all out, and within the hour the food was gone, Derek feeding Stiles the last strawberry like the cliche boyfriend he was. Derek took the stem-end of the bitten strawberry and popped it into his mouth.

Stiles couldn’t wait any longer. He shifted over so that he was kneeling next to Derek’s lax position, knees brushing Derek’s thigh. Derek arched an eyebrow at him. 

“My lease is ending next month. Your apartment is more than big enough to accommodate two.” He let Derek fill in the blanks.

Derek sat up and reached for Stiles’ hand. “You know I want you in my life as much as possible, Stiles, and I would say yes if I could. But remember, my family is very traditional--”

“I’m aware,” Stiles said, keeping the tremor out of his voice surprisingly well. “No cohabitation until marriage. I know.”

Derek smiled sadly, bringing Stiles’ hand up to his mouth and kissing the knuckles. “You’ve already taken over my closet.”

“I want to take over a lot more than that,” Stiles replied, calmly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box, which he opened towards Derek to show its contents. 

Derek’s eyes went wide, flushed cheeks fading to a pale white and then rapidly filling with red in the next second. Derek stared at the ring for one long, heart-wrenching moment, before he moved. Letting go of Stiles’ hand, he reached for the box, and Stiles could see the slight tremble in his fingers.

“I don’t deserve you,” Derek breathed.

Stiles choked out a laugh. “I think you stole my line, Derek. I love you, so much. And I don’t want to wait another year to do what I want to do now. Marry me? So I can take over the rest of your life?”

“Now who’s stealing lines,” Derek answered, shuffling even closer to Stiles. “Stiles, I’m not-- there’s--” he broke off, head shaking. “I love you too, so much that it scares me. Like truly terrifies me. I knew from that day I met you I was lost and that if you ever let me in there’d be no turning back for me. But there’s still so much--”

Stiles cupped his cheeks and kissed him, slowly and languidly, a hint of tongue along his bottom lip. 

“What’s a lifetime of getting to know each other for if we already know everything?” he teased, stroking his thumbs back and forth on Derek’s cheeks. 

He was used to soft looks directed at him from Derek, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen such vulnerability. It drove him wild. 

“I love you. No matter what happens, don’t ever think I don’t.”

Stiles slowly lowered his hands; moved to shuffle back. “Is that a no?”

“I am the cruelest man in the world, saying yes, I will.”

Stiles felt his heart flutter, and he inhaled deeply. “You have this notion that you’ve stolen me away, but I’m the one driving, Ms. Daisy.” He smirked and Derek chuckled, head dipping as he examined the ring, taking it gently out of the box.

“So I can cancel my lease then?” Stiles asked. 

“Planning the wedding for a month from now?” Derek joked.

Stiles shrugged. “Sure. Or less.”

Derek slipped the ring onto his fourth finger and held his hand out to examine it. Without looking at Stiles, he announced, “You’re serious.”

Stiles swallowed. “Deadly.”

Derek’s answering grin was as equally serious. “Then we have no time to waste.”

* * *

The car was silent once Boyd started it back up, and the silence continued to ring in Stiles’ ears as they arrived home. Boyd followed them into the elevator, leaving the car parked where Stiles wasn’t sure it was allowed to be. But Stiles was coming to realized not everything in his life was allowed. 

He stayed in the hallway, though, once they reached their floor, the penthouse apartment, and let the door close on his face as soon as Derek and Stiles were inside. 

Stiles refused to let go of Derek’s hand, even when he tried to pull away. 

Stiles choked back the cry in his throat after another minute of nothing when he finally asked, “Is this the part where you ask me to take my stuff and get out?”

Derek pursed his lips and squeezed Stiles’ hand. “I should. But you deserve an explanation before anything else. Something you should have gotten years ago.”

Stiles was the one to lead Derek to the couch and insist they sit, and refused to leave a square of cushion between them. 

“I’ve never lied to you,” Derek began with. “Especially when it pertains to us. I was born Derek Hale and am still Derek Hale, though there may come a day when I have to be someone else, for the sake of my family and my safety.”

“Laura, Cora, Peter,” Stiles listed dutifully. 

Derek nodded sharply once. “There’s always been plans in place, contingencies if something were to happen, to me or someone else. You were never in my plans, but the plans ceased to matter once you came anyway. 

“We all control Hale. Laura, Cora, and I control 30% each, Peter controls the other ten. He floats. I have the West coast, Cora has Central, Laura covers East. We work together to gather donations for different causes each year. We raise millions a year, in the eyes of the government.” Derek paused. “We raise a lot more than that.”

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath and said nothing.

“Most of the money goes to the charities, anonymous donors, overseas divisions, it’s spread thin enough that no one even sees. The rest goes to Hale, for our people, and for the needs to keep the money coming in. This building is mine, ours. We all live here. It’s safer to be close at hand.”

Stiles raised a hand, and Derek silenced immediately.

“Where does the money come from, Derek?” he asked.

“Many places,” Derek answered. “Some of it is regular tax-exempt donations. The rest... Politicians, millionaires, the rich scum of the earth. Though who am I to talk about rich scum...”

“So, the charges--”

“Dealt with. They’ll never bother you again. I have no clue how those guys found as much as they did, and what possessed them to challenge us, but they will never try again.”

Stiles took a deep breath and counted down from ten. “So it’s all true? Everything? The vandalism, blackmail, _murder_?”

“Most is blackmail,” Derek admitted. “The PD know where to look away. It helps them to help others, those who deserve it. Been that way before my takeover.”

“But...”

Derek lowered his head. “But sometimes things happen.”

“Like today?”

Derek shook his head. “No, that was a misstep on my part. All they needed was a reminder.”

“So...” Stiles scrambled to wrap his head around all of the information he’d been given. “So you’re a mob boss? Essentially?”

“Essentially,” Derek agreed, voice grave.

Stiles let go of his hand, and Derek moved to the corner of the couch, putting as much space between them as possible. 

“How much money did you raise. That first year?” Stiles found himself asking. “You told me five mil, but...” 

“Fifty.”

Stiles wondered if he was going to have another panic attack at the shock that shot through him, but thankfully nothing came. “Wow.”

“You said shoot for the stars,” Derek commented. “So I did.”

“This is more than a Robin Hood situation, though,” Stiles spoke after a moment of quiet. 

“Hale hasn’t always been this way, this good, and I don’t want it to continue being what it is even as it’s better now. My mother didn’t, my sisters don’t, but to change something so ingrained in the working of this country takes a long, long time. None of mine have taken a life. None. That’s not something I would ever ask of them.”

Stiles couldn’t gloss over what Derek wasn’t saying. Just because his men hand’t...

“I... I need _time_.”

“You have all of it,” Derek was quick to assure, looking like he wanted to stand, but then aborted the motion and sank further into the couch.

“But I’m not taking my ring back.”

Derek raised his eyes and stared at Stiles. Derek, even after marriage, continued to wear the engagement ring Stiles had bought for him, snug next to their wedding bands. 

“I need to go... I don’t know, pray? See my dad? I won’t tell him, obviously, he’ll have a heart attack.”

“Your shop, though?”

Stiles sighed. “Shit...”

Derek stood then, motions slow, and he walked away from Stiles, towards their bedroom. “You stay here. I’ll go until... even if you’re not ever... this is your home, and you have your work, and that is more important than me needing this apartment.”

He pulled a duffel bag out from under the bed, Stiles could see through the doorway, and disappeared around the corner towards their closet. Minutes later, he returned, a full bag over his shoulder. 

“I know...” Derek started, stopped, then started again. “I’d feel better if, just for a few days, you let Boyd take you to work. There’s no danger, but--”

“You love me,” Stiles said.

Derek had that vulnerable look on his face again, the one he’d seen last on the day he’d proposed. 

“Thank you. For allowing that,” Derek said. And then he was gone.

* * *

Stiles was no longer confused. 

It was their third wedding anniversary, and Stiles was sitting at their kitchen table by himself, a bottle of champagne in hand. He stared at his wedding ring; brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the gold band. 

Next to his elbow, the only other thing on the table, besides the champagne, was a large glass vase filled with red roses. It was stuffed full. They were identical to the arrangement that had been waiting for him when he went to the shop this morning to open. 

There was no note on either arrangement, but Stiles hadn’t expected one. 

He had hoped, though, the roses being the first communication from Derek since he left a month and a half ago. 

They day after Derek left, Stiles set the couch on fire, tired of staring at it. He watched it burn for a minute, then went and retrieved Boyd from the hallway, who took care of the burning pile of fabric that was left after the blaze was extinguished. 

The next day, he bought a futon instead and had been sleeping on it ever since. He hadn’t touched their bed.

Stiles had told all of his friends and family that Derek was on a business trip, but that he would be back for their anniversary. By saying this, he’d forced himself into a deadline to decide his next move. 

Three years of marriage. Nearly five years in total. Stiles had combed over all of it, recalling every conversation he could. There were signs, of course, but nothing that would have ever brought him to the full truth on his own. 

Derek had never lied. 

Stiles had been spending the afternoon after closing the shop early “to celebrate” staring at the roses, and thinking.

The arrangement at his shop had sat on the counter next to the checkout. A woman, a regular, had finished paying for her order when she took a minute to admire it. “It’s beautiful,” she said, a wistful tone to her voice.

“They’re from my husband,” Stiles replied. “It’s our anniversary.”

In that moment, he’d realized he’d never thought of Derek as anything but his husband.

Sure, he was a liar (or truth-hider), a jerk, a law breaker, a horrible human being, a man definitely never going to heaven. But he was first and foremost his husband, even now, and, well, that spoke volumes, didn’t it?

Not a single rose stem drooped. They all stood tall and proud. The petals, though delicate, weren’t wilting or faded in hue. 

“My husband is a mob boss,” Stiles repeated for the nineteenth time.

He set the champagne next to the vase and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone.

_Ring._

_Ring._

“Boyd.”

“Can you tell my asshole husband to come home? He’s late and it’s our anniversary. I’m a Hale. Flowers just won’t cut it, even if he sent two.”

**Author's Note:**

> check me out for more at [redhoodedwolf](http://redhoodedwolf.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
